


Are You a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?

by kyrene



Category: Supernatural, The Covenant (2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why Dad had ever thought that this was a good idea was beyond Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are You a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?

**Author's Note:**

> OMG, "The Covenant" is a horrible piece of crap, no fooling, but Steven Straitt is oh, so, pretty. In other news, I am totally and utterly fudging the timelines here, considering that "The Covenant" came out a year after "Supernatural" started, and I'm making Caleb and Dean the same age. So I either de-aged the Winchesters by ten years or sent the cast of "The Covenant" back in time ten years. Craziness in the name of slashing hotties - I'M NOT AT ALL ASHAMED!!

Why Dad had ever thought that this was a good idea was beyond Dean.

Sure, a lot of strange things happened in Ipswich, New England, and some of the local high school students seemed a little fishy, but was that any reason to send Dean and Sam in undercover? Well, really, only Dean, since Sammy was still in Junior High. And both of them going to snooty private schools, no less. It sucked.

As far as Dean was concerned, the only time someone should _have_ to wear a uniform was if he was a cop or in the military. Attending the prestigious Spenser Academy was neither of those and Dean felt incredibly lame running around in the same clothes that all the other guys were wearing. Sure, it lent an aura of anonymity, but Dean had never _wanted_ to fit in, and he certainly didn't want to look like everyone else; especially not _here_. The tie was fucking killing him; tight, choking, constricting, like a goddamn noose around his neck.

Sam, the little Stepford freak that he was, was enjoying the entire thing way too much. Of course, it wasn't up to _him_ to suss out the source of the weirdness. He'd taken to the uniform and everything like a duck to water... or a fish to water... or whatever. Sammy was only thirteen, and he loved the structure, the tradition, the sense of "belonging", even though neither of the Winchesters really _belonged_. He'd told Dean so at great length, and he'd looked so happy that Dean hadn't the heart to break it to him just how much they didn't fit in.

Additionally, he didn't know where his Dad had gotten the money or what strings he had pulled to get them both into school -- Dean in Spenser Academy and Sam in Rathbone Junior Academy -- but he assumed it had taken some serious doing, and so even though he hated like hell being there, begrudged every moment, he figured he'd do his best on this Hunt. Just because everyone in his school was a stuck-up snob, just because he thought the entire town could vanish off the map without shaking the universe's karmic balance, didn't mean he wasn't going to give this his all.

Of course, it would help if he knew what he was looking for.

The town of Ipswich had a long and colorful history of witchcraft, black magic, and witch hunts. That much Dad had been able to tell him. He'd also gotten Dean the name of several of his classmates to keep an eye on. The Fabled "Sons of Ipswich", as Dean had discovered by the end of his second day at school.

Caleb Danvers, Pogue Parry, Reid Garwin, and Tyler Simms. Dean hated them just hearing their names alone. Then he _saw_ them. Hell, everyone at Spenser Academy was attractive, as though they wouldn't let a student attend who wasn't model material, but those four stood out. Good looking, charismatic, talented, and popular. Dean really hated them, and wouldn't have minded one bit finding out they were really working witchcraft. Because then he and Dad would put a stop to them, and maybe he'd get to punch one or more of them in their smug, perfect faces.

What really threw him, though, was the fact that Caleb, who was clearly the ringleader, and definitely the most attractive of the four, was _nice_. Guys like that were _never_ nice to guys like Dean. Dean wore his jacket wrinkled and his dress shirt unbuttoned at the cuffs and collar, his tie was always crooked, and he had too much gel in his hair. He swaggered around as though he belonged when it was clear he didn't, and he had no qualms about hitting on some of the sluttier girls. Not that any of them were stupid enough to fall for his charms, considerable though they may be. The female students at Spenser might be skanks, but they were skanks who were highly class conscious. And maybe the adults couldn't tell, but all of Dean's classmates were well aware that he had committed the cardinal sin; _he didn't belong_.

Caleb, though.... Dean had bumped into him in the hall -- spilling holy water on him, just in case -- and it had been _Caleb_ who had apologized. He caught Dean staring and he _smiled_. Unironically. He was polite and hard working and Dean really, really wanted to hate him, but a grudging part of him kind of liked and respected him. And that just pissed Dean off even more, because even if Caleb wasn't a snob or a evil warlock, he was certainly a conformist, a cog in the machine, and he stood for everything that Dean despised about "normal" people.

But, dammit, he was really _nice_. And more than anything else about this Hunt, that threw Dean. Because he was also pretty sure that Caleb and his cronies _were_ using magic. There hadn't been anything yet that he could pin down as definite, but there'd been a few too many coincidences, things that had happened _just_ before Dean had arrived on the scene or after he left, and, well, he just had a gut feeling. Something about them made the hair at his nape prickle, and it was more than their Abercrombie and Fitch good looks.

Dad respected Dean's gut feelings but he couldn't do anything, since he was neither student nor staff and wasn't allowed on the campus. Sammy didn't care, as long as he got his homework done and was allowed to retain his illusion of being "normal". Dean _knew_ that he was on the right track, but was coming up blank so far as actual proof was concerned. Which was frustrating, because he wanted to finish this up quickly and get the hell outta New England. Of all the places they'd made a stop while he'd been growing up, this was one of the ones where he felt he fit in the least.

But he wasn't about to stay in the dorms and although he was haunting Caleb closely enough that it was highly likely the guy was going to begin to suspect he had a freaking _crush_ on him, he still had nothing, no leads.

Of course, none of this explained what Dean was doing in a mausoleum at midnight on what had to be one of the fucking coldest October nights New England had ever seen. Seriously, dude.

But he'd figured it out. The girls who were being assaulted in their sleep, the bruises spontaneously showing up on his classmates during the school day, none of that was as a result of anything Caleb or his cronies were doing. Nope, that was the work of one person, and that person was already dead. Bitter and mean and twisted, nasty and vindictive... but already dead.

Dean didn't know what had driven this spirit to seek its revenge. He didn't know if it was deserved or if the girls being hurt were innocent -- of this particular vendetta, if not of anything else -- nor did he really care. All he _really_ cared about was the fact that his EMF meter was going off like crazy, Dad was away on an emergency call -- Rex Haskins in Maine had broken a leg and needed help finishing a Hunt -- and Sammy was safely at home with his homework and thick salt lines at every door and window in the house.

Sam was safe and that was all that Dean really worried about. The fact that he was facing off with an angry ghost and had nothing on him beyond a gun loaded with silver shot, a flask of holy water, and a box of rock salt... well, okay, it _did_ concern him a little. That last might manage to hurt the spirit enough to piss it off, but the first two wouldn't help him if he wasn't facing a werewolf or a demon.

He wouldn't go so far as to say he was screwed... but he was definitely in trouble. He hadn't really been expecting to hit the jackpot first try, and so hadn't brought the right tools or the proper backup.

All of which was coming back to bite him in the ass as he stared a really cranky spirit in the face in its own mausoleum. The flashlight he was holding didn't do the ghost any favors, and Dean suspected the girl hadn't been that hot to begin with. Her family'd had money, which was why she'd been at Spenser Academy. She'd died as the result of a prank or a hazing gone wrong or something, which would explain why she was targeting the female students of the school, but Dean hadn't really thought she'd been the culprit, else he wouldn't have shown up here alone, ill equipped, at the hour at which ghosts were traditionally most powerful.

And here in New England they were big on their traditions. Dean figured that was screwing him over as hard as anything else was, this Hunt.

The best plan he could come up with was to throw his salt in the ghost's pock-marked face, and run like hell. Considering that she was between him and the door to the mausoleum it might not be the best plan ever, but it was all he had. He'd regroup and come back later, hopefully with his Dad....

Of course, that was assuming that the salt would banish her long enough for him to escape, assuming that he'd make it all the way out of the graveyard and back home, assuming that she wasn't powerful enough and vengeful enough to follow him all the way there... 'cause fucking _hell_ if he'd lead her right to Sammy....

The salt plan almost worked. He almost made it out of the mausoleum. But "almost" wasn't all the way, and, _damn fuck_ , but that marble hurt like a sunuvabitch when he hit it at top speed. Fortunately, it was only his shoulder, not his skull, but the loud crack was still startling and worrying.

"Shiiiiiiiit."

Dean slumped down against the wall he'd hit, his senses momentarily hazed with red-hot flashes of agony. He knew he had to pull himself together, couldn't lay there. completely vulnerable, but pain was zinging through him, incapacitating, and he knew his shoulder was completely fucked. _He_ was completely fucked.

Then there was a footstep on the marble floor of the mausoleum, next to where Dean was lying beside the open door, and he managed to tilt his head without blacking out, looking up and up and then up some more.... It was dark, the only light coming from the flashlight he'd dropped and some moonlight shining in from outside, but Dean could see clearly enough to identify the newcomer, and he was torn between grinning and groaning. Because it would just figure it was Caleb Fucking Danvers. Spiky hair, pretty face, broad shoulders, and all.

Dean was hurting, bad. He wanted to get up, but he was pretty sure he'd broken something when he'd hit the wall, and every time he tried to get his good arm under him, he just about passed out. He opened his mouth to warn Caleb about the ghost, then left it hanging open as he finally got his definitive proof that, yes, there was something supernatural going on in Ipswich.

Caleb folded his fingers inward, his eyes flaring briefly with bright flames before going black in a way that Dean more often associated with demonic possession. But Dean could _feel_ the power crackling over the surface of his skin, like static electricity, standing his hair on end, and he was pretty sure that if Caleb really was possessed, he'd have been trying to kill Dean, not saving his life.

As Caleb clenched his hand into a fist, the ghost fizzled, vanishing in a puff and a last pained wail. Dean would've never credited it if he hadn't been right there and seen it.

"Huh," he said. Then, as Caleb turned toward him, eyes back to normal, "Christo." Caleb didn't flinch and Dean hadn't really thought he was possessed, but it was never a bad idea to check. A bad idea to come to a haunted mausoleum alone, yeah. But that was a life lesson Dean could learn from, now that he could be sure he was going to, you know, _live_.

Caleb's expensive work boots crunched in the rock salt scattered before the mausoleum door. Dean was pretty sure they'd never seen a day of actual work, and never would. But, damned if he wasn't glad Caleb was here. Otherwise, Sammy might very well have come out of this night an only child.

"You okay?" Caleb asked, crouching down beside Dean. His hands were warm and gentle, and he knew enough not to immediately grab the shoulder Dean was favoring.

"Think I broke something," Dean managed to grit out. He was really in a lot of pain, the world beginning to fade around the edges, and then Caleb _did_ put his hand on Dean's bad shoulder, and he sucked in a breath to yell before he realized that it didn't really hurt like it should... in fact, there was a warmth that was filling him, originating in his shoulder joint and spreading down his chest, filling him to the point that even his fingers weren't chilled anymore.

"That better?" Caleb asked, a crooked grin quirking his full lips, his eyes gleaming in the dark. He didn't look dangerous, though. Just friendly, and maybe a little wary. And he'd just saved Dean's life and healed his wrecked shoulder, keeping him from a trip to the hospital. Wouldn't _that_ have freaked Sam out and pissed Dad off!

Still, Dean knew better than to trust appearances. Sitting up and giving his arm an experimental swing or two, he cocked his head and peered at Caleb through the darkness inside the mausoleum.

"So, tell me. Are you a good witch or a bad witch?"

That startled a laugh out of the other teen, honest and open, and Dean relaxed a little. He _did_ know better than to trust appearances, but he also knew enough to trust his instincts. And he was pretty sure that Caleb was on the level. Much as it irked him to admit it.

"Mostly good," Caleb assured him, his teeth flashing white in the shadows. "Though we prefer the term 'warlock'. It doesn't sound so...."

"Girlie?" Dean provided, grinning back. Now that he wasn't in pain, he was overly aware of how close Caleb was, of the hand still resting heavy and warm on his shoulder, and he thought that maybe it was time he got back on his feet. "So what are you doing here?" he asked as he rose, ignoring the help that Caleb offered once he recognized what Dean was doing. "I mean, not to sound ungrateful, but...."

"I suppose I'm doing what you've been doing," Caleb replied slowly in that molasses-scratchy voice of his. And Dean wasn't particularly picky when it came to the pretty -- male, female, it was all good -- but he was a little surprised by how he was reacting to Caleb's nearness in the dark. Sure, he'd seen how hot the guy was while he'd been tailing him. Chiseled cheekbones and jaw, plush lips, dark eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, a body that was a work of art. But aside from that little stunt with the holy water, Dean hadn't been close enough to _smell_ Caleb, to catch the faint hint of cinnamon and musk, to _feel_ his warmth, radiating outward as though the guy was a freaking furnace.

"Huh?" Dean responded intelligently, sending a firm mental _"down, boy,"_ to his dick. He was in the middle of a Hunt, after all. And Dean was pretty sure that Caleb was all about the pussy, despite all the time he spent with the other three "Sons of Ipswich" and how homoerotic some of their behavior was.

"Keeping an eye on you, the way you've been keeping an eye on me," Caleb husked, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I was trying to figure out what you were after. Then I saw you headed here and I really wondered."

Dean blinked. Yeah, he hadn't really thought he was being subtle, but, _damn_. Dad would have his hide if he found out about this. Dean was just going to have to make sure he didn't then!

"Say, did you banish that ghost?" he asked, changing the subject with his usual lack of aplomb. Caleb was eyeing him in a way that made him a little uncomfortable, and he figured he'd probably have to explain things, but he'd rather do it somewhere other than this creepy-ass mausoleum in the middle of the night. "Or just dispel it?"

Caleb's plump lips thinned, but he didn't call Dean on his prevarication. Possibly because he didn't want to have this conversation in the graveyard either. "I'm not sure.... I've never dealt with a ghost like that before."

Dean nodded, all business now. "Okay. Well, I'm gonna have to go and get some more salt, and some lighter fluid...."

"What do we need to do?" Caleb asked curiously, tipping his head, and staring at Dean in that intense way of his. Dean hoped that it was dark enough in here Caleb couldn't see him flush.

"Uh." He bought himself a moment to collect his scattered wits, moving past the other youth to retrieve his dropped flashlight. "Um, we need to salt and burn the bones. Then she hopefully won't come back."

"Ah. A cleansing ritual." Caleb nodded, and Dean scowled. "Well, we can do that now."

Dean stood there like an idiot as things began moving around him. The lid of the coffin slid off, the rock salt he'd scattered collected itself, zinging through the air like crystalline gnats, scattering over the remains of the dead schoolgirl, and then the entire inside of the coffin spontaneously burst into flame.

Dean turned to stare at Caleb. The other teen's face was lit in the warm glow of the flames, his eyes flaring once and then settling back to their normal puppy-brown. He looked intent, but not scary, and Dean _wanted_ to freak out, thought that he _should_ freak out, but it was a little hard to freak out when Caleb was grinning at him like they were sharing a damned _moment_ or something.

"What...?"

"Good witch, remember?" Caleb shrugged. The flames burned out quickly and the coffin lid slid back into place. The inside of the mausoleum was filled with smoke and smelled of charred flesh and melted polyester, and Dean pulled a face.

"Let's get the hell out of here," he suggested, forging past Caleb and out into the fresh night air. Then, because he could be an ass, but he didn't want Caleb to think he was an ungrateful ass, he muttered, "Thanks. For. You know."

Caleb mumbled a reply and they strode out of the graveyard, side by side. Dean's shoulder felt fine, there wasn't even much smoke coming from the mausoleum they'd desecrated, and Dean would eat his favorite Metallica cassette if any more girls at school got hurt. Well, due to ghostly influence, anyway. At least only one of them had fallen down the stairs and she hadn't broken her neck or anything. It had only been a matter of time, since these hauntings tended to escalate, and Dean was pleased that he'd nipped this in the bud.

Well.... Dean might have tracked the ghost down, but it had really been Caleb who had finished things up. Crap. That meant that he _owed_ the guy. Beginning with an explanation.

Dean had walked to the graveyard, since for all it was pretentious, Ipswich wasn't a large town, but evidently Caleb had driven. There was his Mustang, gleaming dull silver in the moonlight. It was pretty nice for a new car, but Dean preferred the classic lines of the Impala.

"Can I give you a ride?" Caleb asked, and Dean accepted. Because he still owed Caleb that explanation.

Once inside the vehicle they sat silently for a long moment. The night was freezing outside, but inside the Mustang it was warm. Dean wondered if it was more magic, or if he and Caleb were both just that hot. Heh.

"I... thanks again," Dean said, chewing on his lower lip and staring out the windshield at the trees. There weren't any streetlights around the cemetery but the moon was nearly full so they weren't in complete darkness. "For your help tonight."

"No big deal," Caleb replied, and the way he said it, it almost sounded like it wasn't. His powerful hands were clenched pretty tightly around the steering wheel, though, Dean could see out of the corner of his eye.

They sat in silence for several more heartbeats, and just when Dean was going to say something, feeling the need to break the stillness, Caleb shifted, denim rubbing against leather, and then he was looking across at Dean.

"So... this is what you do for _fun_?" he asked, waving a hand, and Dean grimaced at the incredulity in his voice.

"No," he scowled. "Not for _fun_." He sat back, folding his arms and trying not to look as though he was pouting. "I do it to protect people, to keep innocents from getting hurt."

"Oh." Caleb seemed to ponder that for a moment, his dark eyes shuttered, his full lips pursed.

"That's why I've been following you," Dean said grudgingly. He didn't want to admit it, but it was better than Caleb thinking that Dean Winchester was in fucking love with him or something. "I was trying to figure out if it was _you_."

Now Caleb frowned. "I would never use my powers to harm others," he said indignantly.

"'Cause of the Three-Fold Law," Dean said, nodding knowledgeably.

"No. I'm just not a jerk," Caleb snapped back.

"Oh." Dean coughed. "Yeah. Sorry."

"That's why you've been following me, huh." Caleb didn't seem inclined to remain offended. He was pretty easy-going; something Dean had noticed in the last couple of weeks. "You thought I was doing what the ghost was doing? Assaulting those girls?"

It sounded pretty bad when he said it that way. "No, no," Dean hastened to assure Caleb. "Actually, what first brought us here was the story about the disappearing statue of Spenser's founder. And the way it showed up in the middle of the Ipswich Town Courthouse... _inside_ the building."

Caleb's plush mouth pulled down at the corners in a small grimace. "Yeah. That was... someone else. Not my doing."

"Reid?" Dean guessed. Since there was likely to be more to the title "Sons of Ipswich" than just a lame way to label the four hotties who liked to hang out with each other. And since Reid Garwin seemed the most likely to pull some lame stunt like that.

Caleb licked his lips, but didn't seem inclined to answer. Which was fine with Dean. After all, you didn't narc out your friends, even if it was just to another student.

"Yeah, well, the ghost thing started up later. And you'll notice that once I was onto her, I followed the trail here instead of blaming you," Dean finished up, trying not to sound defensive.

"Okay." Caleb seemed perfectly willing to take Dean at his word. "So what happens now?"

Dean blinked. But Caleb had a good question. "Well... the ghost is taken care of now, thanks to you," he pondered aloud, as much for himself as Caleb.

"But you were here in town before she started acting up," Caleb prodded. "Watching me."

"Yeah." Dean wondered if he had a chance in hell of persuading Dad he'd taken care of _everything_. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to stop doing magic...?" he ventured hopefully, because if he could convince Caleb then Caleb could convince the others, and then Dad would have no more reason to make them stay here.

"It's not something I choose to do," Caleb frowned at him. "It's something that I was born with. Something inside me." He touched a hand to his sculpted pectorals. "But I _choose_ to control it, instead of letting it control me."

Dean sat there a moment and thought about that. "Well, do you think you could keep your boys quiet for a while?" he finally asked, hating to be giving so much away.... But he knew Caleb's deepest, darkest secret now, right? "Just long enough that I can convince my Dad we're done here?"

"I'll certainly give it a try," Caleb murmured, his expression a little rueful. "But don't make the mistake of thinking they listen to me. And Reid can be an asshole just for the sake of being an asshole."

Dean nodded. That was as much as Caleb could promise and they both knew it. It would be up to Dean to talk their Dad into believing that a Hunt for a spirit or monster that was actually killing people would be more constructive than hanging around here, trying to out some teenage witches who mostly used their magic to pull pranks. Shouldn't be too hard, right? Dean chewed on his lower lip. Yeah, provided Dad didn't get stubborn about completing the Hunt. And Sam didn't get stubborn about staying in his stupid fancy-pants private school....

"So that was really the only reason you were keeping such a close eye on me?"

Caleb's voice was smooth and deep, and suddenly very very close to Dean's ear, close enough that the moist heat of his breath gusted over Dean's cheekbone, doing funny things to his gut.

"I--"

And Dean had been certain that Caleb was all about the pussy, had been _sure_. So Caleb's hand on his cock was entirely unexpected. But not, Dean had to admit to himself, unwelcome.

"Um." He couldn't quite remember what Caleb had asked him, but it didn't really seem to matter, as he spread his thighs, sinking a little lower in the leather bucket seat. Because if Caleb _fucking_ Danvers wanted to give him a handjob in his expensive new Mustang, Dean certainly wasn't going to complain.

Dean wasn't sure if Caleb used magic to get his jeans undone or if he was just that distracted. He was pretty sure Caleb didn't have enough _hands_ to have gotten his own jeans unzipped, but the fly was wide open when Dean reached over. He got a hold of Caleb's dick, noting with both pleasure and annoyance that it was bigger than his own -- though not by a lot -- and since Caleb already had Dean's cock in his broad hand, it was all good.

It was awkward in the car, the angles all wrong, but they couldn't go to Dean's place since Sammy was home, and he'd heard stories about Caleb's mother. Unless they wanted to go back to the mausoleum, this was as good as it was going to get.

Dean slung his free arm over Caleb's shoulder, sharing body heat, breathing the same breath. They didn't kiss because guys didn't do things like that, but Dean thought about it. How Caleb might taste. Black licorice and magic, he suspected. His hand on Dean's cock was steady and firm; he knew what he was doing and just how to do it.

It wasn't that Dean was slutty. Dean's dick, on the other hand, that was pretty slutty. But Dean was usually in control of who touched his dick. And he'd let enough guys fool around with his cock that he could tell the difference. That was definitely _not_ the first time Caleb had wanked a cock other than his own.

Dean took a moment to consider that he might have given the Sons of Ipswich too much benefit of the doubt, but then Caleb pulled some lube out of somewhere and the handjob got a lot smoother and way too distracting. Dean lost track of the reciprocal handjob he was supposed to be giving, but Caleb didn't seem to mind, pulling him closer with one solid, powerfully muscled arm, and Dean clenched his hands in the material of Caleb's shirt, burying his flushed face in Caleb's neck, his hips bucking up into the stimulation. Ah, fuck, Caleb _knew_ how to do this right!

Dean choked on some small moans, unable to keep quiet when Caleb was steadily dragging his climax up from the base of his balls with nothing but the firm steady pull of his hand over the shaft of his cock. He felt really girlie, clinging to the other teen like some quaking virgin, but hanging on was about all he was able to do. He was gasping for breath, he could taste the sweat that covered his face, and when he finally got _there_ , tumbling over the edge and blasting through his orgasm, he just hoped that he hadn't shot all over the Mustang's shiny new interior.

Dean fell back into his seat, his chest heaving, his dick still hanging out of his jeans. He knew he ought to tuck himself in, but his bones had all melted and he was pretty sure his brain had dissolved into mush too.

"Sorry," Caleb said in that rich voice of his, as though what he'd just done had been something to _apologize_ for. He grinned at Dean and Dean wondered if his own smile was that predatory, all straight white teeth and full lips. "But I've been wanting to do that pretty much since the first time I saw you."

Dean blinked, trying to process that when it seemed his mind had been completely blown. What he finally decided was that it was kind of unfair that not only had Caleb saved his ass from a ghost tonight, but he'd also just given Dean an amazing orgasm, and Dean had yet to really do anything for him in return.

"Gimme..." he raised a finger, trying to catch his breath. "Gimme a sec... here...." He shoved his dick carefully back inside his jeans and boxers.

Caleb sat back, smirking, and Dean thought that he ought to look kinda stupid, sitting there with his cock out, but he didn't; he just looked sexy. Dean eyed the steering wheel warily. This wasn't going to be easy, he was going to have to be careful not to smack his head, but he wasn't about to suggest they step outside the car.

"Scoot your seat back," he commanded, licking his palm and reaching to grab Caleb's pulsing dick again. It was a handful, would be a hell of a mouthful, but Dean had been told more than once that he had a big mouth. At least now he was planning on putting that to good use.

Caleb looked puzzled but intrigued and slid the seat back as directed. As soon as he had a little more room to work, Dean dove right in. The bucket seats made it really uncomfortable and awkward, but he really owed Caleb, for two reasons now, and besides, Dean might not be a slut, but he really wanted to get that nice big cock in his mouth.

Caleb let out a startled exclamation, as though maybe he hadn't been expecting Dean to do that, and one hand clenched in Dean's hair, but he didn't try to pull him away. His hips jerked up, and Dean thought he heard Caleb groan out another apology, but he wasn't some wussy virgin who couldn't handle it. Dean took it, and he liked it, and once he was sure that Caleb wasn't going to protest, he settled in to give the teenage male witch a blowjob that would show him just how grateful Dean was for the save in the mausoleum tonight.

He had to admit it; Dean sucked cock like a pro. It wasn't that he'd had so much practice, but he had a love for his craft, and he knew what _he_ liked having done to him when someone blew him. It wasn't really that hard to give good head, in Dean's opinion. And he always liked to be the best at everything he did.

Caleb certainly seemed appreciative, if the strangled noises he was making and the fingers clenched in Dean's hair were any indication. Dean was pretty sure that Caleb was egging him on, but he couldn't really hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears and his own slurping sounds. Caleb's dick was hard and hot and leaking on his tongue, filling up his mouth, and even though he didn't last very long, Dean's jaw still ached by the time Caleb let out one last broken cry and spilled salty and hot over his tongue.

"Dude, a little warning next time," Dean rasped, swallowing thickly and wiping his mouth with the back of one wrist as he straightened up out of Caleb's lap.

"Sorry," Caleb panted, and Dean had to laugh.

"I'm kidding, dumbass," he said, punching the other teen lightly in the upper arm. "And you apologize way too often."

Caleb smiled over at him, looking kinda goofy, and Dean knew that look. That was the look of someone who'd just had his mind blown by a really great orgasm. He probably had a similar look on his own face as he smirked back.

"Thanks," Caleb rumbled.

"Yeah, well, thank you," Dean returned, realizing that he was still holding Caleb's dick in one hand and reluctantly letting go so that he could put himself away. He could taste Caleb all the way to the back of his tongue and he kinda wanted to brush his teeth, but he kinda liked it too. "For rescuing me in there, and for healing my shoulder, and for... well, you know."

Caleb was really cute when he grinned like that, Dean had to admit, even though he wasn't into guys _that_ way -- they were okay for having sex with, but that was _it_ \-- and he couldn't help grinning back.

"No problem," Caleb demurred. He tucked himself away, moved his seat back into position, and started the engine smoothly. Before he put the Mustang into motion though, he leaned toward Dean. Dean found he was leaning as well, before he thought, and then they were kissing, simple as that, even though Dean _didn't_ kiss guys. Caleb didn't taste of black licorice after all; he tasted faintly of wintergreen breath mint, and if there was any hint of magic on his breath it was overpowered by the memory his come on Dean's tongue. His lips were soft but firm, and it shouldn't have been different than kissing a girl, but for some reason Dean couldn't pin down, it _was_.

"You still gonna follow me around?" Caleb murmured, sitting back and throwing the car into gear. He pulled out onto the street in front of the graveyard, and turned without hesitation toward the house the Winchesters were renting.

"I dunno." Dean shrugged. "I'm here to solve a mystery and since I already know your secrets...."

"You don't know _all_ my secrets," Caleb inserted, his voice deep and husky as he glanced over at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Privately, Dean didn't figure Caleb had that many more secrets than the ones he'd revealed to Dean this night... but it wouldn't hurt anything to try and figure him out a little more.

"We'll see," he hedged. He was still going to plead his case for moving on once his Dad came home, but maybe....

Well, maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world if he couldn't convince Dad to leave Ipswich quite yet.

[end]


End file.
